Will fantasy become reality?
by hopeless fanatic's dream
Summary: First attempt at any kind of fiction. Sherlolly! Molly Hooper's POV. Feedback please? I would love to hear what you think! Molly's life leading up to and including the capture of Sherlock :) Any prompts/ideas welcomed! Thanks guys!
1. Chapter 1

So, here I am again. Stuck in this endless rut of hopelessness and self-loathing. When will I deem myself good enough? When will I allow myself the liberty of indulgence in one area of my life. When will I be worthy? Worthy of love. Worthy of him.

I cannot remember what meaning my life consisted of before this startling whirl of blinding wonder abducted the mundane reality that I had become so attuned to. Get up and get ready for work. Go to work. Get home and spend the night surrounded with empty home comforts that have long since been anything but comforting.

The only meaning that mattered now was wasting away the hours till a small comment, a critiquing glance, that one small touch.

The once detached life was now filled with incessant cycles of hope, anxiety, rejection and grieving seemed to dictate my existence.

Pride filled my working hours, longing to impress and surpass expectation. Defeat then consumed every waking hour spent away from work. Fantasy was the one sweet release that emancipated a myriad of hidden desires.


	2. Chapter 2

The longing between each sudden moment of bliss never changed. Never shifted. Never altered. The desperate pain in waiting for the slight lift in the otherwise monotonous life was surely crippling.

I knew. Somehow. I must have known, that one day I would not be able to thrive of the small glimpses into another reality. I didn't, however, know that it would be so unforeseen and rapid.

There was nothing special about the way things were happening, yet I could sense a shift in the room. As usual I could barely contain myself at being in such close proximity to this extraordinary presence. The way he holds himself, in such pride and confidence despite throwing small glances that demand reassurance and flattery. The unstable balance within him draws me in further with every meeting.

Unknowingly on this fairly standard afternoon, something changed within me. It wasn't a sudden change, like flipping a switch, but a gradual build up, painstakingly slow, claiming attention and authority as it grew mightier and mightier. When the change was no longer containable, I did something I would never have done previously.

The outcome seems insignificant when in comparison to the build-up, but the consequences did not disappoint.

One hand clasped around another's wrist.

That is all it took to break down the fragile walls of the current arrangement between us. His hand covered mine forcing my fingers to tighten around his wrist without even looking towards me. Panic overcame me and I somehow managed to stumble my way through a measly apology. Purposively his head turned towards mine and it happened. I was trapped within his eyes, held against my own will yet thankful to be there. First times are romantically coerced into being 'unforgettable' but there really was no other way to describe it, the first time he really saw me, not as someone from the lab, but really me. I felt like more than just another figure in a white coat, another pair of feet walking down the same corridors, another beating heart wandering the streets of London.

Without warning I felt my face fill with colour and my breath to quicken, yet he held me prison under his gaze. I was cornered in an open room.

In one fluid motion, he had leaned forward leaving only a few inches between our faces. A puzzled look developed into his distinguished features, a look that usually appears whilst scrutinising a slide under a microscope lens. Impossible as it seems, my breathing became even shallower almost to the point of losing consciousness when the light between us closed along with any final doubts that were remaining.

His scent was now palpable and mine to taste. The shape of his mouth also became tangible and was again claimed by my own lips. An unknown passion rose within him, forcing me to stand up with him as his leaning frame grew taller. With gentle yet undeniable force, we travelled towards the edge of the room, his large hands negotiated along my arms in a repetitive up and down motion as if unsure what to do.

Finally reaching the unforgiving wall, his hands now pinning me against the wall in a lenient manner. The kiss became deeper and ever so more insistent and the whole room was ablaze. Breathing became increasingly sparse and objects began to spin. Then, blackness.

Waking up whilst lying on a table is not how I envisioned the events following the kiss to happen, yet there I was. Sat beside the table upon which I was laying, was a face of pure worry and confusion. As I sat up, I heard his incessant apologies and requests for reassurance, which I nodded my way through until a glass of water was thrust into my hand. Drink in hand, I tried to organise my scattered thoughts, what just happened? What am I going to do now? Why is he staring at me like that? Forcing my gaze to stay mostly fixed on the glass in front of me, I was only vaguely aware of him leaning closer towards me and whispering a final apology, filled with sincerity.


	3. Chapter 3

Within seconds, the unrelenting mask was back on. The moments of peering behind the concrete exterior that is the usual barrier between himself and everybody else. Once again, courage boiled up inside of me causing me to object loudly to the apology. I have never before stepped a toe out of line, especially not when I'm around him. The surprise of my outburst must have made a lasting impact, as Sherlock dropped his gaze and strode out of the room without a backwards glance.

Seconds later the text alert on my phone interrupted my train of thought. In annoyance, I grabbed the phone only to see that the message that I had received was from him. The text showed an address of a coffee shop and a time, 6 pm. Three hours is a long time. After a session of deep thought and concentration I had cleared the facts away from my own imagination and was left with clear data. It had been a normal day. Then we had kissed. A lot, considering the short time period. At some point, I had lost consciousness. From the lack of injury or pain, I am assuming it was either due to shock or lack of oxygen. The latter option seems most likely. With only two and a half hours to go, I began mentally preparing myself for the arranged meeting.

The time passed at a stagnant pace, urging my anxiety to escalate. When I arrived at the designated coffee shop, I found a hidden corner in which I could temporarily disappear. Only a few minutes passed when the chair next to mine became occupied. Against my better judgement I allowed myself to stare at Sherlock. Gaze in admiration at the way the slight drizzle stuck to his rich curls causing the light to reflect of them slightly more than usual. To marvel at the juxtaposition of the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones to the soft curve of his lips. Lips that I had kissed.

Clearing his throat in a deep rumble, my attention was once again on the reasoning behind his abrupt departure followed by the request for this meeting.

My hands lay clasped together on the table, as he began to speak. The words that were flowing out of his mouth gave a vague assertion that he was unsure of what had happened or why it had happened or what to do next. His eyes looked confused, lost and bewildered. More words came, stumbling and rushed, followed by a faint flush of his pale cheeks. Words that meant good, nice and exciting. Whilst he was talking his large hands rested on mine and his agile fingers absent-mindedly began to stroke mine.

My mind was a blur, I could only manage to stare. Something about my facial expression must have changed suddenly as his lips were once again pressed against mine, but this time they were gentle and curious. The strong smell of coffee mixed with him overwhelmed me.

_**A/N **_**Sorry to leave it there, I will update soon, hopefully tomorrow! Not sure on where the story is going yet, so any suggestions would be lovely! If not, I'll just make it up as I go along! As soon as my account is 24hrs old, I'll start replying to the reviews. But thank you anyway for reading so far! Hope you are enjoying it!**


	4. Chapter 4

This new, compassionate side of Sherlock oozed into the surrounding atmosphere and seeped under my skin. Small, shy and reassuring kisses continued to scatter across my lips. A few minutes later, a sigh liberated itself from his lips. A sound that I would never tire of. Attempting to flutter my eyelashes, I gazed up at his bottomless eyes.

His hands that were still grazing the skin on mine, unexpectedly began tugging me out of the cafe. Moments later I found myself in a taxi heading towards Baker Street. Now I know this is the moment that has been the object of many late night fantasies yet now the moment was there, ready and waiting for the taking, the courage that had filled me earlier was quickly dissipating into the air in the confined taxi.

With my thoughts being so wrapped up inside my head, I didn't notice the stray hand that had crept onto my thigh. Rigidity dominated me. I could not react or reciprocate. Old fears of failure and embarrassment flooded through me once again. This couldn't happen yet, I wasn't ready! Month after month I had dreamt of the time this would happen, and now it was happening I was not prepared. One evening after work with no thought or preparation.

With new found resolution, I had decided that if this was going to happen than it wasn't going to happen this way. I had spent too long dreaming of the perfect night with him. It would be special and with mutual understanding and respect.

When I had finally reached this conclusion we were just about to pull up outside his flat. With my plan in mind I flashed him the most confused and conflicted look I could muster. In return I received a similar expression of unease and distraction. That's when I knew, knew that we both wanted the same thing.

In a moment of soundless communication we had decided to wait. Out of sheer British-ness, I was still offered a nice warming cup of tea, which I of course accepted. Any opportunity to could spend time with this wondrous man I would gladly take.

As the tea began to flow, so did the conversation. For the first time, I felt that we were both allowing ourselves to relax and to be at ease with each other. Laughter became second nature to the both of us. Laughing away any fears of awkwardness between us. Conversation never ceased and never dulled. Topics ranges way out of work related issues and I felt that I was really beginning to witness the real Sherlock Holmes. What a pleasure. To see the precision that he usually applies to work related cases, applied to humour and storytelling. The satisfaction that appeared across his face when telling these fascinating stories. The pleasure of hearing of all the cases he had worked on, the excitement kept me on the edge of my seat all evening. We spoke of our time in University, family life, life outside of work and countless other topics.

Before long, light had disappeared from outside. The evening had closed in discarding the fact that we had plenty more to discuss.

With living in London you can walk to any part if you were willing to put the effort in and with Sherlock accompanying me I would happily stroll the edge of London and back again, reluctant to bring an end to the evening.

Eventually I found myself in my bed, head swimming with the events of the day. The effects of the tiring day became apparent as I fought with my eyelids. I couldn't remember the last time I preferred my reality to the fantasy I created within my imagination. In the last moments of consciousness a text alert flashed across the screen of my phone which only showed three words. Three words that filled me with joy, "Thank you Molly"


	5. Chapter 5

Waking up the following morning was accompanied with a refreshing sense of happiness that has long been absent in the average morning routine. Hope filled every aspect of the usually dispiriting chores that were consisted in preparing for a long day at the hospital. Excitement and nerves rattled through my veins as I speculated what the day would bring.

The morning consisted of fairly typical tasks, once again, nothing out of the ordinary however I still couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had taken hold of me. Sherlock arrived at the lab, slightly later than usual, around 4.30. It was apparent that he had been working late on a case of some sort last night, vague hints on his appearance and behaviour showed the obvious signs of fatigue.

Once again the conversation came easy however he was distant. As if he was reluctant to enjoy himself, as though it was a crime to be happy. The few remaining hours quickly passed and I was soon making my way back to my small flat where I decided to run a nice hot bath to unwind after the past day's events. With soothing music and scented candles, I immediately felt myself beginning to relax into the bubbles.

At previous times like these, whilst my mind drifted into a state that hovered between the lines of consciousness and sleep, I had often created many fantasies in which Sherlock and I had come together both romantically and sexually.

With denial turning into acceptance, I acknowledged that my hot bath was barely tepid any more. Removing myself from the bath I decided to settle on the sofa with a steaming cup of tea and a few biscuits and it was there on the sofa that I somehow managed to drift off to sleep on.

The following morning continued much of the same as the previous, and the one before that, and the one before that. Except I felt a little disheartened that he hadn't tried to contact me at all since I left work. I was probably just over thinking things again. The day was reluctant to pass, as if it knew that I was waiting of the time of his arrival.

The time came and passed. Sherlock was a no show. He must have an exciting case on or something I assured myself. About an hour before I was due to leave work I received a text from Sherlock explaining that he did regret not being at the morgue today. He had also asked whether I was available for dinner. I wasted no time with my reply, and neither did he. The evening had been organised, dinner at a posh restaurant that I hadn't heard of. With a few hours to kill before the arranged pick up time, I decided to treat myself (and Sherlock) to a new evening dress. So with the last of the daylight hours I hit the shops with a mission.

The pale mint green dress that I had decided on was a little more adventurous than my usual attire. It was not revealing in the slightest yet it demanded to be wore with confidence. The high neck covered in a sheer material flowed to the body of the dress that was embellished with simple but complex decorative patterns that emphasised even the smallest of waists. The hem of dress fluttered around the floor.

Prize in had I made my way home deciding on how to style my hair, what to do with my makeup. Usually my appearance was not such a concern, a quick brush through of my hair would normally suffice, yet if there ever was a time to make an impression than it was tonight. The pressure was on.


	6. Chapter 6

Happy with the reflection in the mirror, I checked the time once more. Five minutes left. The longest five minutes of my life. Each second ticked by, reluctant to pass. Two minutes had passed so far, three to go. The doorbell rang. He's early! Of course he is. It's Sherlock, precision is the motto that he lives by.

After half running to the door, I opened it swiftly, there waiting on the other side, staring at his shoes was Sherlock. As the door opened, he looked up. As soon as we made eye contact, a smile spread across my face and a jolt of excitement shot through me. An answering smile dominated his face. In complete sincerity Sherlock complimented me, an action that is to be highly appreciated from the detective.

The taxi that Sherlock had arrived in was waiting patiently and we climbed in. The journey didn't take long, especially with the company that I had. The taxi was filled with laughter, as once again Sherlock continued to retell many stories and jokes. What a wonder that mind palace of his is!

Arriving at the restaurant in high spirits, the prospects for the evening looked very promising.

The events of the evening did in fact carry on with the high standards set by Sherlock. We were seated in a very secluded area of the restaurant allowing us privacy from the rest of the guests. Towards the end of our dinner, he looked across the table and the smile had disappeared from his face. In a very contemplative tone he began to talk once again. He spoke of the time we had spent together over the past few days, how rare it was for him to want to spend time with someone other than himself, how he had never expected to be excited for something other than his work. He also explained that he isn't used to places like these yet he was surprised to enjoy it as much as he had. He continued to express all the ways that he had enjoyed the evening and finally how he hoped we could do more together.

Speechless for a moment, I composed myself, took a few breaths and then began to expose my feelings for the first time. Filling my words with admiration and affection I tried to convey the respect that I held for him and his work, his intelligence, his hidden compassion, the adoration that I have for every aspect of his being. By the end of my confession, Sherlock's hands were clasped around both of mine, cradling them with warmth and tenderness. A few moments of satisfied silence followed, both of us content with the moment of quiet.

Picking up the bill for the evening, Sherlock suggested that we leave the restaurant as it was beginning to get late. In reluctance to finish the evening, we began to stroll slowly down the streets of London. Even though we were both dressed formally, we did not stand out due to the upper class area that we were in. Walking down the street with arms intertwined I reflected on the vast change that had occurred since the kiss in the lab. The prospects for the future seemed hopeful.

In a true gentry fashion, Sherlock offered to escort me home which I accepted, not wanting to walk the streets by myself. Heart racing I considered the possibility of Sherlock /in/ my flat, /in/ my room, /in/ my bed.

We arrived at the door, the time was here. Inhaling sharply I stared into his eyes and kissed him.

The force of the kiss obviously startled Sherlock as his reaction was delayed. His hands went straight around my waist as mine were currently embedded in his thick curls. Breaking free of the kiss I suggested that we go inside to which Sherlock agreed, hesitantly.

As soon as the door was closed behind us the kissing started again with renewed passion. Leading Sherlock towards my bedroom I was thankful I had cleared all of the bras off of the floor a few days ago.

His blazer seemed to have already found its way to the floor, my hands then prioritised loosening his tie. My fingers struggled to undo the knot however his nimble fingers quickly assisted in the removal of the obstruction. I hadn't noticed before but the white shirt that he wore was strained tight against his chest. Unaware of my staring, Sherlock lifted my chin up in order to kiss me again. His hands now roamed around the dress, searching for the zip and soon succeeded. The dress that I had spent so long searching for was now discarded on the floor with other items of clothing joining the pile. The kisses deepened as we neared the bed. Laying me down slowly, Sherlock positioned little kisses down my neck. Previous experiences were nothing compared to the intensity between us. Both driven by desire Sherlock wasted no time and was soon pushing himself into me. Slowly. Repetitively. Vigorously.

The room was filled with the noise of our breathing and moaning. The noise of us, together. The sensation filled me completely, entering every cell and forcing them to surrender to the pleasure. Simplicity was key, no distractions, just me and Sherlock. Exquisitely slow, each drive carefully positioned, perfectly executed. Sherlock picked up the pace ever so slightly and the change started the build up to what became a powerful climax.

Exhausted, we lay together on the bed, breathing hard.

After regaining our composure, Sherlock shuffled over next to me and I rolled onto my side to face him. He placed a sweet, gentle kiss on my forehead, and pulled my closed so that I was cradled against his chest. A muffled hum floated into my ears, a delightfully peaceful tune. With the heat and smell of him surrounding me and the soft melody in my ear, I drifted into sleep.


End file.
